August 26, 2013
A horse walks into a bar, bartender says, “Why the long face?”
I am funny. No, really, I am. I mean, I’m not saying I can make you laugh until you cry. But, yeah, I’m funny. I’m not a stand-up comedian kind of funny, but I am funny. And I’m not sure you would call my humor poignant or political, but, yes, I am quite sure I am funny.
“If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” said Mrs. Murphy when her nose stopped bleeding.
My humor is also not of the intellectual bent, a la Oscar Wilde. Witness:
“If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.” – Oscar Wilde, The Importance of being Earnest
And although I have been known to snicker at a bit of pompous humor, it is certainly not my forte.
An incoming freshman at the university asks the senior B.M.O.C., “Do you know where the library is at?” The snobby senior answers, “You never end a sentence with a preposition.” To which the freshman replies, “Ok. Do you know where the library is at, asshole?”
Whew, you’ll have to excuse me. This may not be indicative of the humor I generally display, but just typing these jokes, I crack myself up! Ok, here’s another one.
Jack admits he has “lost” both his parents, Lady Bracknell replies: “To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.” – Oscar Wilde The Importance of Being Earnest
Puns seem to tickle me. They say that puns are the lowest form of humor and I like that. Puns have always been right at my level.
Why was 6 afraid of 7? Because 7 8 9!
There I go again! Ooh, I crack me up. I’m on a roll, now. Here’s a few oldies but goodies:
What do you call a guy with no arms and legs in a pile of leaves? Russell.
What do you call a girl with no arms and legs on a jewelry counter? Ruby.
Ok dear Readers, let me see if I can compose myself somehow. I fear I might have offended some of you with those last two. My apologies, I seem to be getting off track. Now let’s see, where were we? Ah yes, humor, and my being funny. I do enjoy a good play on words.
A man sits alone at the bar. No one else in the joint except the man and the bartender. The man hears someone say, “My, that’s a nice tie you’re wearing.” “Excuse me?” says the man. “Did you just say something?” “Not me,” says the bartender. Again, the man hears a voice, “Hey buddy, you look like you’ve lost some weight.” And again the bartender denies having spoken. Finally, after hearing, “Wow! You sure look good!” the man challenges the bartender, “If you’re not the one talking, who is?” The bartender looks around and remembers, “Oh yeah, it’s not me, it’s the peanuts, they’re complimentary.”
So there you have it dear Readers. I am not funny. Oh sure, I can continue to keep up the charade, but we both know the truth. And when I think about it, it doesn’t seem fair that I be smart and beautiful and funny. No dear Readers, I cannot be selfish, I will keep my beauty and my brains and throw funny back, like catch and release. Now that was almost funny, right? Right…
Well dear Readers, I think I had better call it night. The more I argue that I am funny, the less funny I become, if in fact, that is even possible. Suffice it to say, I have always wanted to be funny, ergo, I think, therefore, I am. Or something like that. Say goodnight, Gracie. Goodnight Gracie.
How come cannibals don’t eat clowns? Because they taste funny.